Star Wars: Coruscant Nights III: Patterns of Force by Michael Reaves

Kaj.
    “Metaphorically speaking.”
    “What difference does it make if he’s dead?” Den asked sharply. “The Inquisitors aren’t loners. They stay connected to their boss. If you killed him, then he just became a big, fat blank spot on Vader’s sensors, and if he’s still alive, he’ll go scurrying back to his lord and master to make a full report.”
    “He’s already a big, fat blank spot, Den,” Jax explained. “Laranth told me that the Inquisitors have started using some sort of taozin by-product to block detection.”
    “How much danger do you think we’re in?” Dejah asked.
    “No more than we were before. But I do need to start Kajin’s training.”
    “Good,” said I-Five. “That should give you incentive to complete the lightsaber you’ve been working on. And, if we can find another crystal, you might even be able to retrofit the lightsaber you’re carrying now to emit a less sanguinary hue.”
    Dejah laughed, the sound trilling and warm. “I resent that remark,” she said without rancor. “I find crimson a most appealing color … don’t you, Kajin?” She cocked her head pertly to one side, sending a thick lock of burgundy-colored hair over one eye.
    The boy nodded mutely.
    “Oh please …” Den slid off the couch and disappeared into his room. After a moment, I-Five followed him.
    Jax looked at Kaj. The boy’s eyes were still on Dejah, but they seemed unfocused, vague. “You up for starting your career as a Padawan?” Jax asked.
    The boy shook himself visibly. “I’m pretty tired. Is there someplace I could sleep for a while?”
    Jax took Kaj to the sleep alcove in his own quarters and bedded him down, hoping he wouldn’t have any Force dreams. With power like Kajin Savaros had shown, a Force dream could wreak havoc on their homestead.
    He’d soft-pedaled that just now, he realized, and he said nothing of his concern to Dejah when he returned to the living room to find her sitting in the chair Kaj had lately occupied.
    “This is a good thing, isn’t it, Jax—this boy?” Her eyes were eloquent with the need to be reassured.
    “It’s a very good thing. Once he learns to use his ability—well, I can only imagine the sort of things he’ll be able to do. You should have seen him, Dejah. He was nothing short of astounding. I’ve never seen anyone do what he did—just by instinct, I think. He handled repulsor energy as if it were malleable—clay in a sculptor’s hands.”
    “Or light?” She smiled up at him, obviously thinking of her late partner, whose light sculptures had been the pride of Coruscant’s elite collectors, and to whom she’d been completely devoted.
    That devotion was an unusual trait in a Zeltron. As a species they were naturally inclined to swift, passionate relationships, torrid love affairs, brief obsessions. Dejah was different, and Jax suspected at times that she had not completely transferred her devotion from Ves Volette to him—that beneath her air of sultry flirtation lurked a deeper current of mourning.
    He shook the thought away. He was a Jedi. He didn’t want her to transfer her devotion to him. It was dangerous—to both of them. But he answered dutifully and with a smile, despite the chilling thought: “Like light. In fact, it looked as if he were molding light in his hands. Then he hurled it like a weapon. He manipulatedthe repulsor fields as if they were curtains made of this.” He moved closer to her chair to lift a corner of the synthsilk scarf that lay in soft folds over her shoulder.
    She gazed up at him raptly, eyes bright, lips parted. A frisson of something indescribable tickled the back of Jax’s neck. He dropped the scarf. “And he’s only just turned fifteen,” he said quickly, stepping back from the chair and the female in it. “He has no training, no formal practice in how to control the Force. Only his instinct, and his instinct is apparently very good.”
    “He must be very powerful,” Dejah murmured, lowering